


Goodbye Kiss

by Emospritelet



Series: Sprite's Festive Ficlets [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle Knows What She Wants and Goes For It, Blow Jobs, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, F/M, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, Past Character Death, Pining, Smut, Snowed In, mistletoe kisses, oh noes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 19:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16816861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Detective Weaver has been in love with the librarian Belle French almost from the first moment he met her, but it's a secret he kept to himself.  Having now dealt with the investigation of her father's murder, he has resigned himself to no longer being in her life.  Belle has other ideas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the-questionmark-kid prompted:
> 
> 13: “Oh, hey, mistletoe!”
> 
> 45: “Why does it look like it snowed in here?”

The sound of Christmas music was bright and jarring, and most unexpected in the Hyperion Heights library, but Detective Weaver had learned over the past few months that Belle French never did what was expected.

He had first met her as the next of kin in a murder case, her father beaten and shot in his own home by what had turned out to be a business associate. Thankfully Belle hadn’t been the one to find him, but she had gone to the morgue for the formal identification, and he wouldn’t have wished the experience on anyone. He had watched her out of the corner of his eye, standing ramrod straight as they drew back the sheet. She had never broken down, or even cried that he had seen, and he had escorted her out, oddly silent in the presence of her poise and grace. Perhaps it was then that he had fallen in love with her. Looking back it was hard to say, but as he couldn’t recall a time since they had met when he _hadn’t_ been in love with her, he didn’t suppose it mattered.

He had gotten to know her fairly well over the past months. He had been the one to tell her they had made an arrest, and had listened to her rage when the murderer turned out to be someone she thought she could trust. Her anger hadn’t lasted long, overtaken by a deep, heavy sadness that had clung to her for some time, and was only recently beginning to lift. And now here he was, to tell her that the case was proceeding to sentence and that his part in it was essentially over. Which meant that there was no reason for him to see her again.

He supposed it was for the best, really; he was twice her age and looked it, and there was no way on earth she could ever be interested in anything he had to offer. She would move on with her life, pottering around the library and bringing a little light into the lives of everyone she met. He would bury himself in work as he always did when he wanted to pretend that something wasn’t happening. She probably wouldn’t remember him beyond the detective who had dealt with her father’s murder, and he knew in his heart that he would remember her until the day he died. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

Pushing open the library door, he blinked as he surveyed a scene of cheerful chaos. White powder covered the floor, trestle tables were askew, and coloured ribbons, gold stars and glitter were strewn all over. It looked as though a cocaine den had fought with a gay bar and no one was quite sure who had won.

“Miss French?” he called, and there was a surprised squeak from behind one of the stacks.

“Just a minute!”

He walked towards her voice, trying to shut out the outrageously cheerful Christmas music blaring from the bright blue stereo perched on the circulation desk. Sprigs of holly were taped around the edge of the desk itself, and dark green clumps of mistletoe were hanging from the light fittings that dangled above the wooden parquet floor. Belle was in between two of the stacks, re-shelving some books, and her face brightened as she recognised him. It made his heart thump in his chest. She was looking very beautiful, in a dark green dress that suited her pale skin, a Santa hat perched on her head and more white powder coating her hands and arms.

“Detective!” she said warmly. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he lied, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Why does it look like it snowed in here?” 

“Oh.” She slid the book onto the shelf, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Children’s Christmas party. We were making gingerbread houses, and they got a little over-excited with the powdered sugar.”

“You ran a children’s party in here?” he said. “Not exactly like the library I used to go in as a kid. You’d get put in the stocks for speaking above a whisper.”

Belle smiled.

“Well, I try to teach them the joy of reading alongside other activities,” she said. “The schools around here don’t exactly have much spare cash for arts programmes, and a lot of parents work such long hours they need somewhere for the kids to go when they’re not in class. I figured I could help.”

She made to get down the little set of steps, and he rushed forward to help, his feet seeming too big and awkward, threatening to make him fall on his face. Belle smiled up at him as she reached the floor safely, and he couldn’t help returning the smile. Idiot that he was. _Perfect. She’s perfect. A goddess._

He realised he was staring at her, and Belle put her head to the side, one eyebrow raising.

“I - doubt you came here to talk about my after-school club,” she said. “Was there something you wanted?”

Weaver cleared his throat, telling himself to get a fucking grip.

“Uh - I just wanted to tell you that Le Gume finally pleaded guilty," he said. "There’s been a date set for sentencing."

Belle’s face fell a little. She reached out to turn off the Christmas music on the stereo, and he wanted to kick himself. Why had he told her today, now, when she was happy? Why hadn’t he left it until after Christmas?

“Oh,” she said quietly. “When - when is it?”

“Not until next year,” he said lamely. “February twentieth. The defence wants to get some reports done first. In fact - in fact I don’t know why the hell I’m telling you, it could have waited until after the holidays. I’m sorry.”

“No,” she said hastily. “No, I’m glad you told me.”

She stepped forward, until she was standing very close, and he felt as though he was holding his breath, his heart pounding.

“I - I wanted to thank you,” she said. “It hasn’t been the easiest few months of my life, and you’ve been so kind.”

He wanted to say something meaningful. Something that would comfort her, put her at her ease. His mind was blank, and he stared at her in silence like a bloody idiot. Her eyes were very blue, her mouth full and soft as she smiled at him.

“I - I guess once this is all over, you won’t be coming out here much,” she said, and he managed to move, to shrug.

“Maybe I’ll want to borrow a book,” he said, and Belle grinned.

“Do you have a library card, Detective?”

“No,” he admitted. “But perhaps I should get one.”

Belle settled back on her heels, a glint in her eyes, as though she was amused.

“And what sort of stories do you like?” she asked. “Crime thrillers? Drama?”

“Get enough of that at work,” he muttered. “Maybe something that I don’t see enough of in life.”

“And what might that be?”

He smiled faintly.

“Happy endings.”

Belle’s grin widened.

“Do you enjoy love stories?” she asked. “Because I have recommendations.”

“Right,” he said thickly, his skin humming from standing so close to her. “Well. Maybe you can put a list together for me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She held his gaze for a moment, then slowly raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, hey, mistletoe!”

Her eyes found his again, and there was a gleam in them that he hadn’t seen before.

“Well?” she said. “It is traditional.”

He gaped at her, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Only if you want to, of course,” she added. “Maybe it could be today’s happy ending.”

He was frozen in place, but he managed to move, to step forward. Belle reached up to grasp the lapels of his jacket, pulling him in for a kiss, her mouth soft and sweet against his. For a moment he thought he was dreaming, but his arms went around her, tugging her against him, and the tiny moan that came from her almost made him lose his mind.

Eventually their lips parted, and Belle pulled back, her hands still resting on his chest.

“Well,” she whispered. “I kind of want to do that again. Maybe we should call it a happy beginning.”

She was grinning now, her eyes sparkling, and she rose up on her toes to capture his mouth with hers, the taste of powdered sugar on her lips. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: "18: Well, it looks like we're snowed in."

Since kissing Belle in the library, Detective Weaver had spent the week half-convinced that he was imagining things. Not only had the woman of his dreams grabbed him and kissed him within an inch of his life beneath the mistletoe, she had insisted on the two of them arranging a date. They had started with coffee, which was easy enough, and he had taken her to the tiny cafe tucked at the back of a book store a block down from his apartment, knowing she would love it. Belle had been in her element, and the kiss they shared when he walked her home gave him the push he needed to ask her on another date. This time, he offered to take her out in the evening.

He had tried to think of something to suggest other than dinner, but as ever when it came to Belle, his mind had gone blank. It had taken Officer Gale, with her pointed questions about the things Belle enjoyed, to steer him in the direction of the theatre. He had bought them tickets to see a highly-rated production of _A Christmas Carol_ , thinking it was appropriate for the season. Belle had loved it, and had kissed him again on the steps of the theatre, a kiss that was hot enough to melt the winter’s chill.

Weaver had asked her to go with him to the Police Department Christmas party before they parted that night, and Belle had beamed at him, a soft ‘I’d love to’ whispering in his head that night as he lay in bed. The party wasn’t for three days, but for the first time since joining Seattle P.D. ten years earlier, he found himself looking forward to it. Brief fantasies flickered through his head of how the evening might go; he usually avoided the annual dinner if he could help it, but perhaps if he had Belle to talk to it wouldn’t be so bad. As long as he could think of something to say.

A text from her early the next morning made him grin like an idiot before he had even risen. He read it over a few times while drinking his morning coffee, rubbing his thumb across the words on the screen, as though by doing so he could touch her. A brief message: she thanked him again for the theatre trip, and asked if he could swing by the library around lunchtime.

* * *

The air was growing colder as he left the precinct at twelve thirty, a tang of ice in the air making him shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket and quicken his pace. The library, when he reached it, was empty except for Belle, who beamed at him from behind the circulation desk. She hurried over to take his hands in hers, stretching up on her toes to kiss him gently. He could feel his heart thump as she sank back down, her eyes sparkling.

“Thanks for coming over,” she said. “I have a favour to ask, if you don’t mind.”

“Anything,” he said, and her smile widened.

“My father owned some land up in the mountains,” she said. “Which - which I guess is mine now. It’s not much, just a few acres of woodland and a cabin, but we used to go up there in the summer and he’d fish and I’d read.”

“Sounds peaceful,” he said, and she nodded.

“He used to cut our Christmas tree from the woods, too,” she said. “I really wanted to get one this year, but I’m not sure I could manage it by myself. I - I wondered if you’d help.”

Weaver rubbed his chin.

“I don’t have an axe or anything,” he said. “Not much call for one in Hyperion Heights, unless you count the time I wanted to break into the apartment next door and chop up their sound system.”

Belle giggled.

“Was their taste in music that bad?” she teased.

“All music is terrible at 4 a.m.,” he said. “Unless you’ve taken the right substances, of course.”

Belle laughed harder, eyes sparkling, and he felt his heart melt at the sight of it.

“Of course I’ll help,” he said. “I’ll just have to pretend to be rugged for a day.”

Belle stepped forward, hips swaying.

“Oh, I think you could be rugged if you wanted to,” she said.

Her voice was low and full of promise, and he swallowed hard. Belle stepped up close, hands sliding up his chest as she let her head tip back a little, her eyes finding his.

“Are you working this afternoon?” she asked. “Perhaps we could go up there while the sun’s still up.”

Weaver had planned to return to the precinct, but looking into her eyes he decided they could all go screw themselves. He was due some time off.

“Alright,” he said. “Lead the way.”

* * *

They took his car, as it was somewhat bigger than hers. Belle assured him that everything they would need to fell a tree and transport it back to Hyperion Heights would be at the cabin. She stopped off at the local diner to get her thermos flask filled with coffee, and Weaver drove out of town, heading for the mountains to the east. Belle gave good directions, and before too long he was heading uphill through tall stands of pine. There was snow on the ground here, which grew thicker as they climbed, and the air was far colder. Snow began to fall, and Weaver glanced at Belle as she eyed the road ahead, teeth pulling at her lower lip in concentration.

“It’s not much further,” she said. “Take the next right.”

The next right wasn’t really a road as such, more of a track covered in thick snow. No vehicles had been up here in some time, and Belle sat back in her seat as Weaver slowed the pace and followed the curve of the track. The snow was very heavy now, and he was about to suggest that they turn around and return the next day when she sat forward.

“There!” she said.

A cabin loomed out of the snow, its wooden walls almost black against the billowing clouds of white. Weaver braked carefully, but the car still skidded a little, and he turned to look at Belle.

“You sure about this?” he said, and she nodded decidedly.

“We’ll just sit in the cabin until the snow eases,” she said. “I have coffee, and there should still be some supplies in there from the last time I came up here. Come on.”

She opened the door, squeaking as the snow pelted her, and ran for the cabin’s porch. Weaver sighed, shaking his head. _This is a bad idea. I should tell her this is a bad idea._

“Belle, wait!”

He got out, slamming the door and hurrying after her, his feet skidding on the icy ground. Belle got the door open just as he reached her, and he followed her into the cabin, closing the door after him. The cabin was neat and clean, the lounge area with two squashy couches and a large hearth, cut logs stacked six feet high in the alcove next to it. There was a dining area with a table and four chairs, and a small kitchen made up of a few cupboards, a hotplate and microwave. Belle was pottering around the place, flicking on the light and setting the thermos of coffee on the kitchen worktop.

“I’ll light a fire,” she called. “The place warms up quickly, we won’t freeze.”

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Why don’t you pour us some of that coffee? I think we could use it.”

* * *

Ten minutes later the fire was crackling merrily and they were seated on one of the couches with mugs of coffee in their hands. Weaver sniffed at his, catching a warm hint of alcohol.

“I added a shot of brandy,” confessed Belle. “I figured we could use a little fire in our bellies. It’s just one shot.”

“Sounds good.”

He took a drink, looking around. The snow seemed to be falling harder, and Belle chewed her lip anxiously as she looked outside.

“It doesn’t seem to be getting any lighter, does it?” she said, and Weaver frowned.

“No,” he admitted. “Look, I know you were set on getting this tree, but perhaps we ought to head back, try again tomorrow.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she acknowledged. “I think I was over-excited at the thought of Christmas. I didn’t think the weather would be this bad.”

Weaver handed her his coffee.

“Put that back in the flask,” he said. “I’ll go and start the car, get it warm before we head back, okay?”

“Okay,” she said despondently. “Sorry about this.”

“Really, it’s no problem,” he assured her. “It - it was nice to come up here with you.”

Belle beamed at him.

“Maybe - maybe we can come up here again,” she said, a little shyly. “Spend some time here - maybe a weekend.”

Weaver stared at her, the firelight flickering over her pale cheeks and picking out glints of red in her hair. She was so beautiful, so kind, so lovely, and she wanted to spend the weekend with him. Which meant she wanted to spend the night with him. To _be_ with him. His heart was thumping, and he tried to tear his eyes from her and concentrate on the task at hand. Which was getting them home in one piece.

“Right,” he said. “Uh - car.”

He stalked out of the cabin, swearing under his breath as the snow started to work its way down his collar. The car was already covered in a layer of white, and he opened the door, shivering as he got inside and inserted the key. The engine choked and died when he turned it, and he frowned to himself. He tried again, the car wheezing over and over until he took out the key and sat back with a muffled oath.

“Perfect,” he said softly. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”

He sighed to himself. Excellent detective he might be, mechanic he absolutely fucking wasn’t. They would need a tow truck, and he had no idea how long that would take. He pulled out his phone, groaning as he saw there was no signal, and growled under his breath as he got out of the car, slamming the door.

Belle was watching him from inside the cabin, thermos flask in hand, looking puzzled as he mounted the steps to the porch.

“You got a signal on your phone?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“The signal’s terrible out here,” she said. “With the snow coming down I expect it’s non-existent.”

“Well,” he said resignedly. “It looks like we’re snowed in.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @lemusesick prompted: 10: “I just kept pouring brandy in it. Seemed like a good idea”

Weaver listened as Belle rummaged in the kitchen cupboards, humming to herself. The wind outside had increased in strength, snow lashing against the windows of the cabin. He pulled the little gingham curtains aside to look out, but could see little but the black trunks of trees and billowing clouds of snow, pale blue in the evening light. The sun had already set, and the snowstorm was only getting worse. He wondered if they would be able to get out of there the next day, even if the storm passed. Belle had said it was an hour’s walk to the nearest town, but he suspected it would take longer than that if the snow was deep.

He supposed it could have been worse; the fire was burning well, the cabin was cosy, and Belle informed him that they had plenty of canned food. After they had finished their mugs of brandy-laced coffee, she had announced that she would inspect the cupboards, and was currently poking through one of them, lifting out cans and setting them aside. He got up to put more wood on the fire, and went to explore the rest of the cabin. It had two small bedrooms, the beds covered by soft red blankets. There was a small bathroom, with a corner shower, and a door that led out to the back porch, which looked out over a frozen lake.

When he returned to the lounge, Belle had lined up several tins of food on the kitchen counter and was looking them over.

“I think I can put together something for dinner that won’t suck too hard,” she announced. “Are you hungry?”

“Not at the moment,” he said.

“There’s more coffee if you want it,” she said, holding out the flask, and he took it.

“I thought we’d had it all,” he said, pouring the last into his mug. A strong scent of brandy was coming off it, enough to make his eyes water. “You’re sure this is coffee?”

“It - may be mostly booze by now,” she admitted, chewing her lip adorably. “I just kept pouring brandy in it. Seemed like a good idea.”

Weaver barked a laugh.

“Perhaps we’d better have dinner after all,” he said. “Another cup of this ‘coffee’ and we’ll be on the floor.”

“Hmm.” Belle stepped closer, twining her arms around his neck. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

Weaver set down his mug, stroking his hands over her waist as she kissed him. She was smiling when she pulled back, her expression extremely satisfied. Her fingers were stroking the wisps of hair at the back of his head, and it was sending pleasant shivers through him. Belle’s smile widened a little.

“You know,” she said, her voice a little lower than usual. “It’s our third date.”

“Yes.” He gave a resigned shrug. “I’m sorry it wasn’t something more romantic than getting stuck out here.”

“Oh, I don’t know...” Her fingers pushed further into his hair. “Log cabin, roaring fire, snowed in with nothing to do but - get to know one another. Seems pretty romantic to me. For a third date.”

Weaver licked his lips. That was twice she’d mentioned the third date thing, but he didn’t want to jump to the wrong conclusion.

“So,” he said. “How do you want to pass the time?”

Belle rose up on her toes and kissed him again, her tongue gently stroking against his before she sank back down with a little moan of satisfaction that made him twitch. Her pupils had gone wide and dark, and she sent him a tiny, secretive smile.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: 14 "Just how good were you this year?"

Weaver still had his hands on Belle’s waist, his breathing coming harder in his chest. He could taste brandy on his tongue, the rich heat of it, and he bent his head, his lips brushing against hers once more. Belle’s fingers twisted in his hair, pulling his head down on hers, her lips pushing his apart, her body pressing against him. Her tongue pushed in between his lips, hot and urgent, and he could feel himself begin to harden in his jeans, his heart thumping as his arousal grew. His hands slid up her back, fingers stroking over the nape of her neck and pushing into her hair, and Belle moaned, pressing herself against him. It was almost too much, and he broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his lips still almost touching hers. Belle smiled up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded.

“There,” she whispered. “I told you we’d think of something.”

She stepped back, pulling out of his arms, and reached out to grasp his hand, drawing him over to the fire, where the warmth flowed over them. Weaver could still feel his heart thudding in his chest, the brandy he had drunk making him a little light-headed. Belle turned to face him, lifting first one foot then the other to take off her shoes and toss them aside. She was a good four inches shorter without them, small and delicate and beautiful, her skin a warm apricot colour in the firelight. Her hands stroked up his chest, palms flat against his shirt, and he licked his lips as her eyes met his.

“Are - are you hungry?” he whispered, and her smile grew.

“Not for food.”

Gentle fingers slid over his chest, plucking at the buttons of his shirt and opening it up. She pushed it from his shoulders, and he let his arms fall, the shirt falling to the floor behind him with a soft _thrup_. He wore a vest beneath, and Belle tugged it from his jeans and pushed it up his chest, her thumbs rubbing over his nipples and making him gasp. He lifted his arms, tearing the vest over his head and cupping her face with his hands to kiss her hungrily.

Belle moaned into his mouth, and her hands slid lower, reaching his belt and tugging at it. He groaned, his tongue pushing into her mouth, and he heard the clink of his belt buckle and the sound of his zipper as she got his jeans open, hands slipping inside and pushing them down over his hips. Belle gripped his cock through his underwear, making him tear his mouth from hers with a gasp and a muttered oath, and he shuddered with pleasure as she squeezed him. Her fingers trailed down to brush over his balls, and he groaned again, desperate for her, aching to be inside her.

Belle turned her head to kiss at his neck, lips pulling at the skin of his throat and the tip of her tongue sweeping over him as her fingers dipped into the waistband of his boxers. His hands were still in his hair, his head rolling back and his breathing ragged, and she kissed up to his ear, sending shivers through him as she gently pulled down his underwear.

“This - is not how I imagined spending Christmas,” he managed breathlessly, as her lips trailed down his neck and over the top of his chest. “Up until a week ago, I was planning on my usual misery-and-whisky-for-one, and - and then you come along and—”

He cut off with a groan as her lips fastened over his nipple. Belle sucked at him, running her tongue in a circle over his hard flesh, and Weaver felt his fingers tighten in her curls. She let the nipple slip from her mouth, gazing up at him heatedly, her mouth full and dark and wet.

“Well, Christmas is a time to reward yourself for all the good you’ve done,” she whispered. “A time to indulge. Just how good _were_ you this year, Detective?”

She kissed across to his other nipple, her mouth sending jolts of sensation through him as she tugged at it, and then she was sinking down, onto her knees, her face level with his groin. She stroked her hands down over his rear, gripping him tight, and he let out a low groan as she drew her tongue along the length of his cock. He could barely breathe, his heart thudding high in his throat, and Belle glanced up at him, reaching around to take him in hand, eyes locked on his as slowly circled the head with her tongue. It was all he could do not to come at the sight of her, blue eyes wide and innocent, full lips deep pink and wet with her saliva. She held his gaze for a moment, her chest heaving, then slowly took him in between her lips and drew him deep into her mouth.

Weaver let his head roll back with a loud groan of pleasure, his fingers twisting in her hair. Her mouth closed up around him, soft and hot and wet, and she began to suck, tugging at his flesh, her mouth moving up and down the shaft, finger and thumb encircling the base of his cock, squeezing him. It felt incredible, and his legs were shaking with the pleasure of it, sensations building up within him as she sucked and slid and pulled, her tongue wrapping around him, her cheeks hollowing.

His legs buckled, and Belle let him slip from her mouth, pulling back as he stumbled, dropping onto his knees and then rolling onto his back on the rug. She bent over him, taking him in her mouth once more, and he arched his back with a groan, pushing upwards, hitting the soft flesh at the back of her throat and feeling her close up around him. She had quickened her pace, her thumb and finger working in time with her mouth, saliva running over her hand, his cock slippery with it, and he could feel the need rise up within him, the urge to let go and spurt deep inside her.

“Belle!” he gasped. “Oh please, I’m gonna—”

He cut off with a long, low groan as he came, his cock pulsing in her mouth, stars bursting in his vision, blinding him. Belle moaned, sucking at him, drawing every drop from him and swallowing it down, and he let his hips jerk as the seed spurted from him onto her tongue and over her soft lips.

Belle drew her lips up his length, letting him slip out of her mouth, and slowly kissed her way up his belly, her tongue swirling in circles over his skin. His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his skin tingling, and his eyes fluttered open, fixing on hers as she smiled down at him.

“Well,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: 37: "I dont think Santa wears that..."

Weaver rolled them, turning so that Belle was on her back. She was giggling a little breathlessly, and he grinned down at her, his skin still tingling from the force of his orgasm. His pants were still around his ankles, held in place by his boots, and he rolled off her to tug them off, tossing the boots into a corner of the room and sending his jeans and underwear to join them before sliding up beside Belle and letting a hand gently caress her cheek as he turned her face to his. She was still fully-clothed, her eyes sparkling mischievously, and he felt a surge of love for her go through him. _It’s too early to tell her. A third date is_ way _too early to say the L word. Even if it’s been true since about half an hour after I first met her. God, she’s breathtaking!_

“Are you okay?” asked Belle. “I didn’t short-circuit anything, I hope.”

Weaver shook his head, kissing her forehead gently.

“I’m perfect,” he said. “ _You’re_ perfect.”

He kissed her gently, tasting a hint of his own salt on her tongue, and his hand trailed down to cup her breast through the little shirt she wore. Belle pushed into the palm of his hand, and he squeezed her, the kiss growing harder. He plucked at the buttons, getting the shirt open and revealing creamy skin hugged by a black lace bra. Her nipples pushed against the lace, hard and erect, and he kissed down her neck, letting his tongue circle one, his saliva wetting the lace. Belle moaned as he sucked at her, and he kissed across to the other breast, tongue scraping on lace, running over the taut bud of her nipple.

She rolled towards him a little, onto her side, reaching behind to unhook the bra and shrug out of the shirt, and then turned onto her back again so that Weaver could pull them from her and toss them aside. He licked his lips as her breasts were revealed, firm mounds of white flesh with dusky pink peaks, and he bent his head to them once more, his tongue circling, his lips sucking at her.

Belle arched up into him, fingers stroking through his hair as she made a sound of contentment. She felt incredible beneath him, at once firm and wonderfully soft, and not for the first time since he had met her he allowed his mind the freedom to imagine how it would feel to make love to her, to sink into her and give her pleasure. To come deep inside her. He knew it would take a little while before he was ready for that even though his cock was already twitching with interest, and he silently thanked the snowstorm for trapping them.

She wore a little skirt above thick tights, and he slid his hand down over her belly, pushing beneath the waistband of the skirt, beneath the tights, feeling soft skin.

“Wait!” she said urgently.

He removed his hand at once. Perhaps it was too soon. Pulling back from her, he watched as she rolled onto her side again, but she simply reached behind herself and there was the sound of a zipper. The skirt being unfastened. Belle rolled onto her back once more, her eyes finding his.

“Are we going to have sex?” she asked.

“Only if you’re ready,” he assured her. “I’m not gonna pressure you, I swear it.”

“Oh, I’ve been ready for weeks,” she insisted. “I just - well, I guess I rehearsed this in my head a lot, so I was pretty much ready that first night you kissed me.”

_God, I love her. I fucking love her._

“So - so we can,” she added. “If you want to.”

“Yes. God, I want to!” Weaver hesitated. “I - I don’t have any protection with me, though.”

“Oh, I get a birth control shot,” she said. “Is that okay?”

He nodded, swallowing hard, and Belle smiled, flicking her eyes towards her remaining items of clothing.

“Take them off,” she whispered.

Thanking his lucky stars, he gently took hold of the skirt and tights, pulling them over her hips and down the length of her legs. Belle wriggled a little to help him, and once the clothes were gone he saw that she wore a black lace thong, a small scrap just covering her mound. It made his mouth water. Belle reached up, stroking a hand through his hair with a soft look in her eyes.

“How’s your day so far, Detective?” she asked, with a grin. “Did you enjoy the gift I gave you?”

Weaver smiled down at her.

“That,” he said. “Was the best Christmas present I ever had.”

“What am I, Santa?” she asked, amused, and he grinned widely, one finger plucking at the waistband of her thong.

“I don’t think Santa wears that…”

“Maybe not.” Fingers trailed through his hair, making him shiver. “What now?”

“Now?” he said softly. “Now, I return the favour.”

She made an approving noise, and he bent his head to her breast again, sucking at the nipple as his palm slid over her belly and beneath the waistband of her thong. Questing fingers dipped in between her folds, and Belle gasped as he touched flesh slick with fluid. He let out a low growl at the feel of it, and slid a finger along, coating it in her juices. She was hot and wet, her skin like velvet, and he drew the fingertip back up, feeling the hard nub of her clit. Belle moaned, hips twitching a little at his touch.

His finger slid lower again, probing the snug opening, and he slowly pushed inside, feeling her flesh grip him, his mind reeling from how it would feel to push his cock inside her, to feel her all around him. To join with her and fuck her until they were both spent. His thumb rubbed over her clit, the finger pushing deep, and Belle moaned and writhed, pushing up against his hand. He added another finger, pushing in beside the first, sliding them into her as his thumb rubbed in a circle, and Belle let her head roll back as he worked, thrusting in and out, wanting to give her pleasure, to make her come apart as she had done for him.

He bent his head to her breast again, lips closing around her nipple, sucking as he pushed his fingers inside her, and Belle jerked at the sensation, letting out a high-pitched cry as his tongue scraped over her. Her chest was heaving, her body growing taut, and he quickened the pace of his thrusts a little, pushing and sliding, her juices easing his way. She let out a whimper, that rose to a cry as she came, her flesh clamping around his fingers, and he groaned, wanting to be inside her, wanting to _feel_ her.

Belle settled back with a heavy, contented sigh, and he drew out his fingers, glistening with her fluids. Her head rolled towards him, her eyes sleepy.

“That was pretty amazing,” she said, her words slurring a little.

“Oh, I’m not done,” he growled.

He tugged the thong down her legs, tossing it over his shoulder as he moved between her knees and pushed her legs apart, bending to kiss his way up the soft inner thighs. Belle hummed in appreciation, and he let his lips trail higher, his nose catching the scent of her arousal, tongue flickering out to run along the crease at the top of her thigh. He kissed the hot flesh between her legs, his lips sticky with her juices, and let his tongue sweep over her, tasting her for the first time. Belle rose up with a cry before falling back, and he pushed her thighs further apart as he bent his head to her, his tongue swirling over her flesh.

She tasted divine, and he groaned as her flavour spread over his tongue, the scent of her covering him. His fingers slipped inside her easily, her flesh soft and slippery-wet, and his tongue circled her clit as he pushed deep, making her moan. He licked in a steady rhythm, tongue sliding against her, looping around the hardened pearl at the top of her cleft, and her back arched, her body pushing upwards as her moans grew louder. He was hard now, his cock eager to be inside her, and he quickened his pace a little, licking and thrusting and sliding until Belle was panting, her chest heaving as she drew near to climax.

He slipped his fingers from her, his tongue running over her wet flesh, and she broke with a cry, hot fluid seeping from her and spreading on his tongue, on his lips. He groaned in pleasure, licking it from her, swallowing it down, tasting her cum in his throat, as she had tasted his. She was jerking and moaning, her hips bucking a little, and he pushed up onto his hands as she tried to catch her breath, his rigid cock pressed against her inner thigh. He was so close he could almost feel her, and felt a tug of arousal low down in his groin. Belle’s eyes fluttered and opened, and she nodded to him, an invitation.

Weaver took himself in hand, moving forward a little until the head of his cock was pressed up against the wet heat of her. The sensation was incredible, making him grit his teeth, but he took his time, pushing slowly inside her until he was buried deep, her flesh scalding him, gripping him tight. Belle let her hips rise up to meet him before settling back on the rug, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as her hands slid up his arms to stroke through his hair.

The rug before the fire was rough against his knees, the heat of the flames a little too much on his naked skin, but he didn’t care. He stroked a stray wisp of hair back from Belle’s cheek, bending his head to kiss her as he began to move, to thrust in and out of her in long, slow strokes, his hips circling a little, his body grinding against hers. She let out a contented noise, drawing up her knees to let him push deeper, sliding her feet around his back as her tongue stroked his. Being inside her was wonderful, her flesh tugging at him as he moved, making sensations build within him, making his breathing harden until he had to pull his mouth from hers, his chest heaving with the effort.

He wanted to close his eyes, to lose himself in the feel of her for a little while, but at the same time he wanted to see her, her beautiful eyes and her flushed cheeks and the way her lips were full and moist and parted. He could feel her breasts pushing against his chest and the way her fingers traced over his scalp, sending shivers rippling through him. And he could feel her body growing taut as her pleasure rose with his own, muscles tightening, fingers stiffening. She moaned, letting her head roll back, her legs tightening around his back and pulling him close against her.

Pleasure burst through him in a wave, making him cry out wordlessly, a rush of bliss stealing his sight as his hips pumped and his cock pulsed and hot fluid squirted into her. The sensation of it seemed to take her with him, her body stiffening as she let out a cry of pleasure and her walls clamped down on him, tugging at his flesh and drawing his seed deep inside. He groaned as he moved in short, shallow thrusts, his cock still pulsing, and Belle let her hands drop to his shoulders, running them down his back as he slowed to a stop.

For a moment they lay there, each trying to catch their breath, the only other sound the crackle of the fire. Belle licked her lips, taking a final, shuddering breath as she settled back with a happy sigh.

“You were right,” she said. “Best Christmas present ever.”

“Merry Christmas,” he said softly, and she smiled.

“Merry Christmas,” she said. “The first of many, I think.”

He grinned, and bent to kiss her, his fingers sliding into her hair as his tongue stroked hers. _God, I love her. I love her so much._


End file.
